


What Makes A Captain

by JinxQuickfoot



Series: Whumptoberverse [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Peter Parker, Civil War Fix-It, Day 2, Gen, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Protective Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26439220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxQuickfoot/pseuds/JinxQuickfoot
Summary: Steve was almost relieved when the radio crackled to life, but that relief was short-lived as the voice of Helmut Zemo crackled into the cockpit. “Captain? I hope, for Stark’s sake, that you are not too far out of range to receive this."----------------------------------------------------------------------------With Tony and Peter being held hostage in Siberia, Zemo forces Steve to make an impossible choice.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: Whumptoberverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921831
Comments: 68
Kudos: 285
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [usa123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/usa123/gifts).



> Fuck it. Time isn't real this year anyway. 
> 
> Whumptober 2020 Day 2
> 
> Prompts: ("Pick Who Dies”/Collars/Kidnapped)
> 
> Relationship: Steve & Bucky
> 
> Dedicated to [usa123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/usa123/pseuds/usa123), one of my favorite writers on this site (ever).  
> 
> 
> Direct Sequel to: ['Til the Fight Is Done](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26438419)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooft T’Challa was hardly in this and it was still painful. R.I.P. Chadwick Boseman, you are sorely missed.

When Steve came to, the ground was shaking, and he couldn’t move.

He jerked awake, pulling at thick leather straps that were binding his body to the wall. They came apart in his hands as he tumbled forward, feeling every ache and pain arching through his body. Steve usually breathed through pain, treating it as background noise, even before the serum. Pain had always been a constant. He couldn’t remember a time before Erskine when he wasn’t nursing some illness or ailment or injury courtesy of the latest neighborhood bully. After, when he had thrown himself into fight after battle after war, he hadn’t seen the use of taking care of the injuries he sustained, not when he would heal faster than those around him who needed that help more.

But this pain he felt all the way down to his bones and, for maybe the first time in his life, he allowed himself a moment to feel every ounce of it.

_Put on the suit, let’s go a few rounds._

He’d meant it at the time. He had meant to take on this man who was accusing him of being nothing, of _standing_ for nothing, of not earning the Captain America title but it being handed to him, as if everything hadn’t been handed to Stark on a platinum platter. He would have shown this man who was no different than the bullies who had cornered him on the Brooklyn streets that he wasn’t some lab experiment who got lucky at a science fair. He’d show him what fighting for something other than yourself looked like. 

Steve had fully believed that at the time, until danger and war had pushed the two men into teamwork and, eventually, friendship. It took some time, but Steve came to realize that the public persona of Tony Stark, worn as a suit of armor long before Iron Man, was very different from the man himself. What frustrated Steve is how rarely Tony let that real version of himself make an appearance especially, it seemed, around him. That Tony could go from throwing himself in front of a bullet for him to pushing every one of Steve’s buttons on the ride home from the hospital - buttons Steve didn’t even know he had until he met Howard’s son.

Howard. Steve had never considered himself friends with the inventor - Howard had always treated him too much like a prized lab experiment for that - but he had sure as hell respected him. And he definitely hadn’t wanted to watch his skull get beaten in against a car door.

Steve had seen the look in Tony’s eyes, a dark version of when Tony got an idea for an invention or a plan or a suit of A.I. armor around the world, and the battle instincts in him had taken over. Disable Tony’s suit, get Bucky out of there.

Because whatever century he was in, even as everything around him faded from black and white to every shade of gray in the spectrum, Steve believed in one thing. If he fought for what was right, and applied every ounce of his will to that cause, he’d win against everything the universe decided to throw his way, especially if Bucky was at his side.

He’d been right. But Steve hadn’t felt like they’d won.

He blinked again, the fog flearing from his head as he registered that he was in a small plane, different than what he was used to. It was quieter, the vibrations too smooth for the winds battling the plane from outside. He straightened up, looking automatically for Bucky and finding him propped up against the opposite wall. He was secured by the same leather straps which had held Steve, what was left of his metal arm gone.

“Buck?”

Steve shook the rest of the weight from his head, on his feet in an instant, kicking into fight mode as he registered who was flying the plane. Then he paused, deciding that attacking their pilot - especially one that was stronger than him while Bucky was still restrained - was not the best course of action. So Steve backed up instead, dropping to Bucky’s side.

It was then he registered that the leather restraints were buckles, not locks, and that Bucky could have easily gotten out of them if he wanted to.

“I hope you do not mind that I removed the arm,” the pilot called back to them. A black-clad hand pressed a couple of buttons, putting the plane into autopilot, and then T’Challa was approaching both of them, suited up in the Black Panther armor sans helmet. “It was wired into your friend’s nervous system and was causing him a great deal of pain. This path seemed kindest.”

Steve gave him a nod of thanks, still wary. Bucky’s eyes were open but his head was tilted back, staring into nothing. Steve’s hands ghosted over the straps, unsure. “Can I -”

“If you prefer. Although I’d suggest replacing them if we hit another patch of turbulence. Our planes are good but they’re not that good. Do not tell my sister I said that.” T’Challa offered him a small smile that Steve didn’t return.

“Are you arresting us?”

T’Challa shook his head. “I would like to offer you sanctuary until the situation in the States is stabilized, now that I know that your companion is innocent in my father’s death.”

The words drew a little gasp from Bucky, as Steve hastily undid the straps holding him to the wall. Bucky slumped when they were off and Steve offered him a shoulder to lean against. Bucky didn’t take it.

“Buck,” Steve repeated. “Talk to me.”  
  
“Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Stark. Your friend. Sorry.”

Steve hovered a hand above Bucky’s knee. When Bucky didn’t pull away, Steve gently placed it there, using his other hand to grasp Bucky’s good shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry for. That was my decision.”

“His parents.”  


“That wasn’t you.”

“It was though.” Bucky’s voice was barely more than a croak. “You saw the video.”

T’Challa interrupted them, his stance cautious. “What video?” 

“There was a man,” Steve supplied. “Helmut Zemo. He…his family was killed. In Sokovia. He wanted revenge, for the Avengers to tear ourselves apart. And we did,” he added, after a moment. “What did you do with him?”

T’Challa raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”  
  
Steve felt Bucky tense beneath him. “Zemo. He was there - at the bunker. You caught him, right?”

“I saw you two stumbling through the snow, barely conscious. I prioritized.”

The weight of that statement hit Steve like a freight train. “Tony.” 

Squeezing Bucky’s shoulder again,  Steve looked up at T’Challa and said, “I need you to take me back.”

“This Zemo - he is dangerous?”

Steve hesitated. “In a way, yes.”

“Someone who is a match for your Iron Man?”

Steve wanted nothing more than to drop T’Challa’s gaze at that point, but he forced himself not to. He’d made that choice. He’d take the consequences. “Tony’s not Iron Man right now. We…I broke it. I broke the suit. It was the only way to get him to stop. I didn’t know -” He broke off, hating the excuses even as he was making them. “I need to go back.”

T’Challa was already nodding, moving back into the pilot’s chair. “I do not imagine he will be a match for the two of us.”

“Three,” Bucky put in. “I’m coming too.”

“Buck, no, you’re hurt -”

“I’m fine.” As though to prove his point, Bucky pushed Steve away, staggering to his feet. Steve rose with him, trailing him to the cockpit. “How long?”

“Our planes travel fast,” was T’Challa’s answer. “Although the autopilot cannot navigate the landing in such weather. I will have to do it, so that may cost us some time.” He glanced at where Bucky’s metal arm had been. “When we have retrieved Stark and Zemo, I’m sure my sister will have some ideas for a replacement, if you should want one.”

Bucky didn’t reply, averting his eyes instead.

“You should stay here,” Steve repeated.

“I’m going with you.”

“T’Challa and I can handle it. And Tony might not…I don’t know what state he’s going to be in, but maybe it’s better if you’re not…” 

Steve was almost relieved when the radio crackled to life, giving him a reprieve from trying to form the words, but that relief was short-lived as the voice of Helmut Zemo crackled into the cockpit. _“Captain? I hope, for Stark’s sake, that you are not too far out of range to receive this.”_

Steve leaped forward to intercept the radio transmission but T’Challa was faster. “Helmut Zemo, I presume.”

_ “My business is with Rogers.” _

“And my business is with you,” T’Challa said, still calm. “Do you know who I am?”  


There was a pause, and then the voice on the radio said, _“Your father was at the UN.”_  
  
T’Challa spared a look at Bucky before he said, “I am the man chasing my father’s killer.”

_ “I am sorry. Your father was a good man, with a dutiful son. I understand you seek vengeance.” _

T’Challa’s eyes went from Bucky to Steve, both bruised, battered, and beaten. “Enough ‘vengeance' has been dealt today. Justice is what you shall face in your future.”

Steve couldn’t wait any longer, leaning towards the radio. “Where’s Tony?”

_ “He’s right where you left him.” _

Steve’s blood went colder than the snowstorm outside. He’d broken the suit, yes, but Tony had been relatively fine when he’d left. Bloodied but conscious and yelling at Steve’s retreating back.

_That shield doesn’t belong to you. You don’t deserve it._

His only thought after that was to pull Bucky out to safety. Zemo had left the moment the video had had its effect. Tony had his own plane. And he hadn’t been that badly injured - the suit had taken most of the damage. Right?

He should have checked. Dammit, why hadn’t he just _checked?_

“What do you want?” Steve asked, voice low and calm. This wasn’t over, not yet. He could still do this. He could still get everyone out.

_ “I thought watching you fight each other would be enough. That the break in your so-called alliance would be enough. It wasn’t.” _

“Vengeance never is,” T’Challa said softly. “You have let it consume you.”

“What do you want?” Steve repeated, emphasizing every word.

_“Return to the base,”_ Zemo ordered. _“Just Rogers and Barnes, unarmed. No one else.”_

Steve shot Bucky a look before he said, “I’ll come back. Alone. Then we can talk.”

There was a long pause over the radio, and then suddenly a muffled cry rang out through the plane, making Steve grip the copilot chair so hard that the headrest snapped. Tony was almost as stubborn about showing injury and pain as Steve was. He didn’t want to imagine what condition Zemo had him in to make him sound like that. 

_The condition you left him in._

“Ok.” Bucky’s quiet voice drew the others’ attention to him. “We’ll both come.” His tone and the look he leveled at Steve made it clear it wasn’t up for debate.

_“Land the plane away from the base,”_ Zemo ordered. _“Barnes, Rogers - walk towards the doors, unarmed. Your highness?”_  
  
“Your majesty,” T’Challa corrected him.

Zemo ignored him. _“Once you’ve dropped off Rogers and Barnes, fly the plane away. If I see you get close again, I’ll kill Stark.”_  
  
“Then there will be nothing left to stop us coming for you,” Steve promised.

Zemo’s answering sigh crackled over the radio. _“Do you really think I care about my own life at this point, Captain? I don’t expect to survive the day. This I am at peace with. I have a family waiting for me on the other side if there is one, and oblivion would be preferable to continuing to live without them if there isn’t. But I would take, if I could, one more thing from the so-called heroes who murdered my wife, my father, and my son. And if that thing is Stark’s life, I’ll settle. It is more than the others you have wronged will receive. But perhaps we can still bargain. Unless you have no interest in returning for him.”_  
  
Steve knew that those words weren’t for him, but for Tony, and they stung - that Zemo would only say them if he thought Tony would believe it. “I do,” he said hastily, knowing he was giving Zemo more leverage than he already had, knowing that he was showing his hand, and not caring. And if Zemo was going to speak words at Steve meant for Tony, then Steve was going to return the favor.

“You have a deal. We’re coming back.”

***

It took some persuading to convince T’Challa to stay behind.

“I would remind you, Captain,” the king said as the plane landed back on the snowy rocks. “That this is the man responsible for my father’s death.”

“And I don’t want him to be the man responsible for Tony’s,” Steve argued.

“You would have a better chance of rescuing him with more numbers,” T’Challa pointed out. “Especially as yourself and Sergeant Barnes are in less than ideal fighting condition.”

“Not a sergeant,” Bucky interjected. “Not anymore. Not for a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, and meant it. “But you said yourself that the autopilot isn’t instinctive enough to fly the plane in this weather. Zemo needs to see the plane leave. Please,” Steve added, when he saw that T’Challa was about to argue further. “There’s too much at risk.”

“Stark’s life means that much to you.”

“Yes,” Steve said without hesitation. “But also; I have friends currently in the custody of General-Secretary Thaddeus Ross. Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff and Scott Lang.”He recalled Natasha’s actions at the airport. “Potentially Natasha Romanoff. If I don’t…” Steve swallowed, glancing at Bucky. “If I don’t come back, I need someone on the lawful side of the Accords to fight for them. They’re good people trying to do the right thing. Ross isn’t.”

T’Challa took a deep breath, considering. He nodded. “Do what you need to save your friend,” he said, and Steve felt a pang at the last word. “And, if it is required, I will speak for your allies in your absence. But if you can bring Zemo in alive, that would be my preference.”

“You don’t want him dead?” Bucky asked quietly.

“I would rather he face my people and the loss he has taken from them,” T’Challa replied. “Justice. Not vengeance.”

“I’ll try,” Steve promised. “But if it comes down to a choice between him and Tony -”

“I would understand,” T’Challa assured him. His last words were to Bucky. “The offer of sanctuary stands. I believe we have the resources to help you further.”

Bucky’s eyes were on the ground. “You don’t have to do that.”

“No,” T’Challa agreed. “I don’t. But I am, because it is right, and because it is what my father would have wanted.” He held out his hand and, after a moment, Bucky shook it. T’Challa gave them both one more nod, and then boarded the Wakandan plane. The aircraft rose like a raven against the gray skies, and then vanished into the heavy snow clouds above.

Steve offered Bucky an arm for support, but Bucky shook him off. “We can’t appear weak.”

Steve frowned, but saw the logic in it and didn’t argue. He led the way back towards the base, trying to slip into the soldier’s mindset. He had a mission. Rescue Tony, subdue Zemo, get out. That’s all he needed to focus on right now. Not the after. Even though there would be an after, long and hard, no matter the outcome.

The base looked even more threatening than when Steve and Bucky had first touched down. Then, it had been home to a threat they thought they could fight; five new Winter Soldiers, undoubtedly evil, that the world had been better off without. Now, it was a memorial to a broken friendship and one too many poor decisions, _blind_ decisions, that hadn’t considered what the other side could see. None of them had had the full picture, and now they were paying for it.

Steve made his way through the door Tony had pushed his way through only hours earlier. Steve remembered the sight of the expressionless Iron Man helmet, the metal arms forcing the heavy doors apart, bracing himself for a foe. Tony offering himself as a friend. Then…

Steve’s eyes drifted to the TV set, still in place in the center of the bunker, its screen now black. 

There were marks of the battle everywhere. Dents in the walls, in the floor. Smears of blood. The remains of Bucky’s arm left discarded where the final showdown had taken place.

No shield. No Tony.

Steve could feel Bucky’s breath ghosting against the back of his neck as his oldest friend stayed close. Steve could guess without asking that Bucky was feeling as exposed as he was; Bucky without his arm, Steve without his shield and both, as per Zemo’s instructions, without weapons.

“Are you ok?” Steve whispered over his shoulder.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Steve glanced around. The only other open door was on the other side of the bunker. The stone corridor within curved almost immediately, not allowing a view of what was waiting on the other side.

“Well,” Bucky said as he stepped up so he was in line with Steve. “That’s a trap.”

“Yep.”

“You’re walking right into it, aren’t you?”

“I guess so.”

Bucky grimaced as he moved in front of Steve, taking the lead. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“You don’t have to -”

“If you tell me to stay behind one more time I’m going to clock you one.” Bucky glanced back with a half-smile, seeing Steve’s frustration. “Now you know how I felt when I tried to stop you getting into every punch-up you could find.”

“Not all of those were my fault.”

“Enough of them were.” Bucky paused in the entrance to the corridor. “Game plan.”

“Get Tony. Get Zemo. Get out.”

“And what if…”

Steve guessed where Bucky was going. “Tony doesn’t have the armor. He can’t hurt you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Bucky took a deep breath. “You should take him and go.”

“I’m not leaving -”

“The king said he’d be back in an hour. Or do you really think it’s a good idea to have me and Stark in a small, airborne container together?”

Steve couldn’t argue with that. “Ok. Ok, damn, fine.” He gave Bucky another once-over. “How are you holding up?”

“The serum’s doing its job. I’ll be ok.”

Still, Steve hesitated. “Something else is wrong though, right? Asking as a captain, not as a friend,” he added swiftly, when Bucky went to argue. “Anything that would compromise the mission?”

Bucky hesitated. “This man used me, Steve. To hurt people. To hurt you. Just…” Bucky leaned against the wall, head bowed. “I’m tired of being used. I’m tired of…I’m tired.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmured, not sure what else to say.

“I didn’t want to hurt him, either.”

It took a moment to realize that Bucky was talking about Tony. “I know.”

“I did though. Here. At the UN. I tried to shoot him in the face, Steve. I nearly did.”

“That wasn’t you.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, clutching his scalp so hard that it took all of Steve’s self-control not to wrench the fingers away. “If I ever…if that happens again…I don’t want to hurt anyone else. Do you understand?

“Of course I understand.”

Bucky finally looked up, meeting him with a look. _“Do you understand?”_

Steve caught on. “I’d get you back. Every time, I’ll get you back. You know that right?”

“That’s not what I’m asking for.”

Steve met his gaze head-on. “I’d get you back.”

“It’s not…it’s not always worth it.”

“Buck.” Steve lost the battle with hanging back and stepped forward, grasping Bucky’s arm. “You’re always worth it. I know that maybe you don’t see that, but I do.”

“I’m not worth _you.”_

“What do you -” Steve shook his head. “We will talk about this, I promise. We’re going to get you better. But we need to get to Tony.”

“No. I need you to hear this. Before we go in.” Bucky took a long breath, then said, “It wasn’t you that brought me back. Well, it was, but not just seeing you. It was…on the Triskelion. It was almost killing you.”

“Buck -”

“Steve, for once in your life, shut up and _listen_. That’s what brought me back. The thought that you’d almost died. Because of me. And I’m letting you know now, before we go in there, that I’m _not worth it._ I’m not worth you, and I’m not worth the people you care about. I need to know you understand that.”

“I don’t because it’s not true. We’re all getting out of this,” Steve insisted.  


“There’s no other option.”

“I owe him, Steve.”

Steve frowned, unsure of what that meant. “Tony?”

“Howard,” Bucky corrected. “I owe Howard and Maria Stark their son.”

“Then let’s go get him. Ok?”

Bucky still looked unsure, but perhaps he was feeling the ticking clock as well, because he readied himself. Together, they stepped around the corner into the next room.

Steve barely registered the form of Helmut Zemo, his eyes immediately going to Tony.

The remnants of the ruined armor had been completely stripped away, leaving Tony in nothing but a tattered dry-fit t-shirt and jeans. He was on his knees, head down, hands locked behind his back, a second chain anchoring his ankles to the floor. He was shivering violently,and although he stilled when he heard Steve enter the room, his eyes remained on the floor.

The sight was enough to make Steve start forward, only noticing Zemo when he moved, stepping forward so he was at Tony’s side. The man was so forgettable, could so easily blend into the background. He looked so ordinary for someone who had caused so much damage.

“Stay where you are,” Zemo ordered, and Steve paused, looking for the threat. Zemo followed his eyes, seeming to catch what he was looking for. He wound his hand in Tony’s hair and jerked the mechanic’s head up, forcing him to look at Steve.

Steve’s breath caught in his throat, from equal parts shock and rage. To his right he felt Bucky’s small gasp, taking a step forward, only pausing when Steve put a warning hand on his chest.

Zemo had locked a collar around Tony’s throat; an awful, thick, heavy contraption that was making it difficult for Tony to keep his head up, the weight pulling against Zemo’s hand in his hair. But that wasn’t the worst thing; wasn’t the thing that was making Steve’s hands shake.

Steve knew, logically, after the initial shock had passed, that this couldn’t be the same muzzle they had made Bucky wear all those years, even if it looked identical. This base had been made to breed super-soldiers after all. It would make sense that they would have replicas of everything they used on Bucky - on the Winter Soldier, Steve corrected himself, that hadn’t been Bucky. Not in the ways that mattered.

“Take that off him.” Bucky’s voice was a snarl as he took another step forward, pressing against Steve’s arm. Tony’s eyes darted to Bucky in confusion, struggling as Zemo stepped in closer, putting Tony between him and Steve. Tony almost darted free, but then Zemo hissed, “Our deal,” and Tony went still again.

“What deal?” Steve demanded.

“Not the one that concerns you, Captain.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, remembering his words from earlier. “Not a captain anymore,” he said, trying to stall, to give himself a minute to think. “I don’t think they let fugitives keep military titles.”

“Military titles,” Zemo scoffed. “The military is not what made you a captain. Nor was it some salesman selling war bonds with a smart marketing plan. No, what made you a captain was the people.”

He pulled a small detonator from his pocket, pointing it at Tony. “If I press this that collar will snap his neck. Understand?”

Steve gritted his teeth but said, “I understand.”

“Good. I would hate for this to be over before the world sees what it needs to.” Zemo finally let go of Tony’s hair to gesture around the bunker, causing Tony’s chin to hit his chest again. “The cameras are everywhere. We’re live, Captain. Say hello to the people.”

Steve didn’t look away from Zemo to check for cameras. Whether they were there or not was irrelevant. He wasn’t playing whatever game this was.

“Tell me, Captain. Have you been on the internet lately?”

Steve eyed him, wondering where this could be going. “Been kind of busy.”

“My goal was to destroy the Avengers,” Zemo continued, as though Steve hadn’t spoken. “A house that crumbles from within. And I believed I had done it. You, as a team, are undoubtedly destroyed. Scattered to the winds, most of you fugitives or prisoners. It’s what I thought I wanted.”

“And what do you want now?” Bucky asked quietly.

“You are destroyed as a team. But not as an _idea._ The news condemns you. The government condemns you. But the people…for the people you are still their Captain. They still support you. Not all of them, but enough. They call you brave. Noble. A _hero.”_ Zemo turned the detonator over in his hands. “I’m going to show them you’re anything but, Rogers.”

Then the base was filled with a piercing high-pitched noise that had both Steve and Bucky clapping hands over enhanced ears, but it was cut off as the sound was replaced by static, then a male voice - Zemo’s voice. 

_“Желание.”_

Steve spun around to Bucky, seeing his friends eyes go wide with panic. “Run,” Steve instructed, as _“Ржавый”_ echoed across the bunker.

“Not enough time,” Bucky gasped. “Steve -”

_“Семнадцать.”_

Steve rounded on Zemo. “Turn it off or I’ll make you.”

Zemo waved the detonator at him. “Do you think you could get to me before I pulled this trigger?”

_“Рассвет.”_

“Steve -”

Steve glanced between Tony and Bucky, desperation growing.

“You can’t save them both,” Zemo continued. “Which is the point of all this. A little dramatic, I know. But…” He waved to the cameras. “All good television is these days.”

_“Печь.”_

Bucky’s hand grabbed Steve’s wrist, tugging him down so he was looking at him. “Kill me.”

_“Девять.”_

“Buck, hold on, I’ll stop it -”

“You can’t.”

_“Добросердечный.”_

“Kill me, Steve. I can’t do this, not again. I’d rather die - please, just…”

_“Возвращение на родину.”_

“Stop!” Steve didn’t even know who the word was aimed at. 

_“Один.”_

Bucky shoved him away, stumbling to the other side of the room, as far away from Steve as possible.

_“Товарный вагон. Солдат?”_

Bucky went very still. Then his head came up, eyes blank. _“Я жду приказаний.”_

“English, Soldat,” Zemo ordered. “I’m sure our audience will appreciate it.”  
  
Bucky took that in then repeated, in English, “Ready to comply.”

Steve turned back to Zemo, not bothering to hide his rage now. “Let him go.”  
  
“Oh, I will,” Zemo said lightly. “If that’s what you choose.”

Steve hesitated, feeling the trap, not wanting to step into it. 

Zemo turned to Bucky, gesturing him over. Bucky immediately went to his side in a way that made Steve sick. “Firstly, Soldat, if Captain Rogers kills me or harms me in any way before my final task is complete, I want you to kill Stark and then yourself. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Very good. Apologies, Captain. As sure as I am that you’ll kill me after, I have one last task to undertake.”

“What do you want?”

“To show the people who their hero really is. You see, this is a choice. A very simple one, actually. You can choose to keep the Asset -”

“His name is Bucky.”

“- alive. Or you can shoot him before he kills Stark.”

Zemo pulled a gun from his waistband and placed it on the floor, skidding it along the ground to Steve’s feet as he pressed the detonator into Bucky’s waiting hand. “Soldat? In exactly two minutes, I want you to press that button. Understood?”

Steve snatched up the gun, if only to feel the comforting weight of a weapon in his hands. Tony was watching Bucky with wary apprehension, wide eyes going between him and Steve. He started struggling again, muffled grunts of exertion coming from behind the muzzle as he fought in vain to free himself.

“This is madness,” Steve breathed. “I’m not choosing.”

“But you will,” Zemo said, his tone almost kind. “And if it helps, you’ve already made up your mind. It’s the same choice you’ve always made. Because you’re not a captain, Rogers, not really. A captain is a leader who makes hard decisions, who puts duty and sacrifice before everything else. And I’ve seen your efforts. I know you’ve tried. But you’re not who the people think you are. And you’re about to show them. Ninety seconds.”

Steve cast around for a plan, any plan, to get them out of this - to get all of them out of this.

“I can see the panic in your eyes,” Zemo said softly. He ran a hand through Tony’s hair again, even as Tony tried to dodge out the way, glaring at him defiantly. “So let me help you. You’re going to choose Barnes. You’ve always chosen Barnes. It’s the wrong choice, but you’re going to make it anyway.”

“I’m not choosing,” Steve snarled at him.

“You cannot save them both.”  
  
“Watch me.”

“You should pick Stark,” Zemo mused, hands tightening in Tony’s hair, making him wince. “As much as I will be glad to see him die, it’s him you should save. It’s who the people want you to save.” Zemo indicated the cameras. “There is nothing more powerful than an idea. People want to _believe_ in the Avengers, you see. But you letting Iron Man die will ruin them. For good.”

The gun in Steve’s hands felt like a millstone.

“But you won’t save Stark. You won’t choose your team. You’ll choose the brainwashed murderer, responsible for the deaths of so many; for the murders of Howard and Maria Stark.” Tony flinched in Zemo’s grasp, and Zemo smirked as he looked right into one of the cameras. “Of President J. F. Kennedy.” Zemo turned to look at where Bucky was still standing blankly, pointing the detonator at Tony. “Be kinder to let him die, really. But you won’t let go of the last remnant of your past. Sixty seconds.”

There was a muffled cry as Tony managed to tear himself out of Zemo’s hold on him, falling forward on his knees with the weight of the collar. Zemo didn’t make another grab for him, watching the scene almost with disinterest. “Clock’s ticking, _Captain.”_

With great effort, Tony managed to lift his head so he was looking Steve straight in the eye, trying to talk past the muzzle, even though the words came out as nothing more than garbled noise. There was no hatred there, or rage, or grief, or anything Steve had seen in his former teammate’s face as he had blasted Bucky’s arm straight from his body.

There was just fear.

Steve’s breath caught, trying to equate that with the man who knew Tony Stark to be. Steve knew Tony feared death as much as the next man, but as far as he knew, he’d never run from it. The wormhole in New York had proved that.

“The world is about to watch Captain America fail the Avengers,” Zemo said. “There will be no coming back from that. Forty seconds.”

Tony was trying to speak in earnest now, the muffled words giving way to cries of frustration when he couldn’t make himself understood. Steve tried to put the pieces together as the clock ticked down.

“What else happens?” Steve demanded, and he saw Tony pause, hopeful. “If…if Tony dies, what else happens?”

“I’ve told you what happens. The Avengers die with him.”

Tony gave another shout, locking eyes with Steve, pleading with him. Steve had never seen Tony Stark plead for anything in his life. 

“No,” Steve breathed, eyes darting around at where the cameras supposedly were. How many people were watching this right now? “There’s something else. Something else happens. To the team, or...”

“Thirty seconds.”  
  
Steve shook his head. It didn’t matter, because Tony wasn’t dying. Neither of them was dying - not on his watch. “Tony, just hold on, I’ll get you out of this.”

“The only way to save him is shooting Barnes. And you won’t do it, Rogers. He’s your friend.”  
  
Steve didn’t look at Zemo, choosing to stay focused on Tony instead. “So is he.”

He cast about for options. Shooting Zemo would result in Bucky killing both himself and Tony. Steve toyed with the idea of shooting Bucky instead - not fatally, but strategically - just enough to get him to drop the detonator. But this wasn’t Bucky. This was the Winter Soldier, whose programmers had seen no need for pain. He could shoot him and the Soldier wouldn’t feel a thing. He wouldn’t drop the detonator.

But Bucky would.

“Bucky,” Steve said, turning his attention away from Zemo and, even as it pained him to do so, away from Tony. “James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant, 32557038. Look at me.”

Bucky didn’t.

“Twenty seconds, Captain.”

“This isn’t you. You can break through this, I know you can, we’ve both seen it.”

There was a rattle of chains as Tony jerked his ankles, apparently trying to get Steve’s attention back on him, but Steve only had one goal now. If he could break through to Bucky, Tony would be safe. He could do this. He could save them both.

“Your parents' names were Winnifred and George. You had a sister named Rebecca. My mother’s name was Sarah. You came with me to her funeral so I wouldn’t have to go alone. You made me ride the Cyclone at Coney Island until I was sick and we once got a hiding from Mr Ward for stealing lemons from his tree.”

“Ten seconds. You can’t beat Hydra’s programming.”  
  
“I have,” Steve insisted. “I will. Buck. You’re my best friend. And I know you’re stronger than this. You said you weren’t worth all this. You are. You always have been.”

“Five seconds.”

Tony had given up struggling and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the end.

“Til the end of the line,” Steve said softy and there it was - just the hint of recognition in the blank stare, Bucky finally pulling his gaze away from Tony to look at Steve.

It wasn’t enough. He didn’t let go of the detonator.

Steve looked from to where Tony was on the ground, breathing hard, eyes still closed, to Bucky, who was gazing at him, confused and wary and lost. If Steve had had time, he knew he could have brought him all the way back, coaxed him out, slowly and gently.

But Steve didn’t have time. So slowly and gently was off the table.

_It wasn’t you that brought me back._

“Final chance, Captain. Time to pick who dies.” 

_It was almost killing you._

Fine. Steve would choose.

Steve focussed on Bucky. After this he would be ok. He’d go to Wakanda, he’d get help. He’d be ok. They all would be.

“Til the end of the line,” Steve repeated, raising the gun and - there. The flash of recognition was all that Steve needed to see to be at peace as he raised the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter’s first day as an Avenger really could have gone better.

First, he’d screwed up in Germany. Tony had only given him one job - web up the rogues and stop them escaping. But Captain America (still weird that he was the bad guy) and the man with the metal arm had gotten away, and Tony had sent Peter home. He had told him he was done.

Peter wasn’t done.

So he’d followed Tony here and had subsequently fallen off a plane, gotten captured, broken both his wrists, and was now strapped into the weirdest chair he’d ever seen in his life.

He’d let the supervillain - who really didn’t look like a supervillain - do it. He’d been helpless as he’d watched Zemo strap a collar around Tony’s neck, and then another around his; had complied when he learned what they did.

If Peter had been at full strength, with a working suit, he probably would have gone for the detonator clutched in Zemo’s hands as he marched Peter into a dark, freezing room that rivaled every horror movie he and Ned had watched in secret during sleepovers. But he figured with his wrists bent out of shape, and without his web-shooters, he’d fumble it. So he let his captor sit him down in the metal chair, strap a black mask around his mouth, and let two steel jaws close over his arms.

That felt like hours ago, but Peter also knew he got bored within ten minutes, so maybe it hadn’t really been that long. Not that he was bored. Quite the opposite. He was in pain and, yeah ok, he _might_ have been terrified. Just a little bit. Maybe a lot.

He could feel the metal cogs and gears of the collar digging into him, aware that any moment it could go off. At least Zemo had apologized which, if Peter was being honest, was scarier than if he had laughed manically and produced a sky beam designed to incinerate the earth.

“I’m am sorry,” Zemo had murmured in his ear as he finished pulling the mask tight. “You were not part of this plan. You shouldn’t have been involved in this. So young…” He pushed a stray curl out of Peter’s eyes, soft and fatherly and sickening. “But I need to send a message. You will help me send it.” Zemo gestured to a corner of the dark room, and Peter could just make out a camera high up in the corner, pointed right at him. 

The camera was almost more terrifying than the collar. Peter was still in the non-functioning Spider-Man suit, and the mask-thing only covered half his face. And while he may have a little more to worry about at this point than his identity, the idea of anyone seeing him like this…

“They shouldn’t have involved you,” Zemo continued, more to himself than to Peter. “But that’s what the Avengers do. They soar through the skies and don’t think of those below them. They can stop an alien army, sure, but a woman, a child and an old man trapped in rubble? They didn’t even think to look.”

He stood to leave, and while Peter wanted this man gone so he could start planning an escape attempt, he also didn’t want him to go back to Tony either. Tony, who had let Zemo collar and muzzle him as well; who had agreed to cooperate in return for Peter’s safety.

Peter squirmed against the restraints, feeling the bite of cold sinking in through the suit. He was beginning to think Tony got the raw end of that deal, because this hardly felt safe.

“But soon they’ll see,” Zemo finished. “I’m going to show them all.” Then he left Peter alone in the chair.  
  
Peter swallowed a quip about supervillain monologues that he couldn’t say, and tried to focus past the pain and the cold, figuring that maybe now would the time to start planning. Before, you know, he froze to death like Captain America. Except Peter was pretty sure that he wasn’t going come back if they defrosted him.

_Ok, Spider-Man. Priorities._

A first good move would probably to get out of the chair. Destroying the camera would be next. Then finding Tony. Or taking out the bad guy. He wasn’t sure which one he should do first there. Maybe the bad guy. Because Tony was still…well, he was _Iron Man,_ right? Right?

Peter couldn’t deny that he had been thrown when he had first seen Tony in the base, beaten and captured and...small. It was the most fitting word Peter could think of. Only that afternoon _Tony Stark_ had been sitting on his twin bed, seeming to fill up the entire room, and then…

Peter shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about that. Now was the time for action.

He tested the weird jaw-like things around his arms, letting out a muffled cry as pain shot through both wrists. Maybe _soon_ was the time for action. One silver lining of being tied down like this; the restraints were acting as wrist splints, stabilizing his injuries while the bones knit back together. He could let himself heal just a bit more, right?

Ok. Heal. Break out of the chair. Smash camera. Take down bad guy. Rescue Tony. Go home.

It was a sound plan in theory, but waiting for his wrists to become semi-functional again was agony that came from more than just snapped bones.

_But soon they’ll see. I’m going to show them all._

Years spent with his nose in comic books and video games told Peter that he wasn’t meant to let the bad guy mess with his head, but that was getting increasingly difficult as the time passed with no other stimuli than staring at a stone ceiling. What had he meant be ‘soon they’ll see’? Something to do with the camera? Was he going to show the footage of Peter without his mask to someone?

Peter tested out his wrists again, wincing as pain shot up his arms, although it wasn’t as intense as before. Maybe ten more minutes. Then he could break himself free.

_Ten minutes,_ he decided. _Ten more minutes, then I’m out of here._

That was when the voices started echoing through the base, one more prominent than the others. He _knew_ that voice, from countless PSAs and documentaries and propaganda films from history class. From an airport tarmac, telling him “You got heart, kid.”

Captain America had come back? Was this a rescue?

_A trap,_ his brain supplied instead.

Peter was straining so hard to catch every word of the conversation, that the deafening blast of a PA system belting Russian through the base was like a spike going through his skull, overloading his senses as he saw white.

By the time he could somewhat hear again, the words he heard cut him to his core. “You can choose to keep the Asset alive. Or you can shoot him before he kills Stark.”

They were going to kill Tony. If Peter was going to move, he needed to move now.

Before the spider bite, Peter had once taken a tumble down a flight of stairs, fracturing his leg in three places. It had been the worst ten minutes of his life, waiting for someone to find him and call for help.

That pain was nothing compared to straining against the restraints with two broken wrists that had barely had time to heal.

He slumped back into the chair with a scream that died inside the mask, panting for air. _“Ninety seconds.”_

No. He could do this. He could definitely do this. Tony was going to die if he didn’t do this, and then there would be no one left who knew Peter was here, and it wasn’t getting any warmer. He’d be left alone here to die.

So Peter braced himself against the restraints and pulled.

They might have been made to contain super-soldiers, but Peter was stronger. Slowly, torturously, the metal bent, and then Peter was ripping himself free and yanking the muzzle from his face.

_“Sixty seconds.”_

Peter’s hands flew to the collar but realized that disabling it was going to take more time than he had. He hated leaving it around his neck, but he stumbled out of the chair and _ran._

_“Twenty seconds.”_

Peter almost froze when he burst around the corner and saw the scene laid out before him. Tony, bound and gagged and struggling on his knees, a blank-faced man Peter recognized from the airport pointing the detonator straight at him.

_“Ten seconds.”_

Captain America was also there, begging with the man with the detonator not to do it, but the man was showing no signs of even listening to him. Peter didn’t stop moving, intending to knock the detonator from the man’s hand, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and changed course on instinct, pulling Steve Rogers’s hand away just as he pointed the gun under his chin.

The next thing he knew was pain as a fist connected with his face.

_Ow_ , Peter thought, his head fuzzy. _Guess he was going easy on me at the airport._

There was a flurry of movement and then a thud, and Peter opened his pain-wracked eyes to see Helmut Zemo crumple, unconscious, on the ground at Steve’s feet.

Muffled shouts brought his attention to Tony who was gazing at him, eyes wide with concern. The man with the detonator stepped forward, Peter guessed to untie Tony, but stopped when Tony flinched, eyes fixed on the detonator in his hand.

The man seemed to realize what he was holding, because his eyes grew huge. At a glacial pace, the man placed the detonator delicately on the floor, then raised his hand and backed away until he hit the far wall.

Then Steve was at Tony’s side, going to take the muzzle off, but Tony pulled away from him too, shuffling away as best he could. “Tony…” Steve got out. “Let me…”

“I got it.” Peter staggered to his feet, wincing as blood dripped onto the floor, making a mental note to never startle Captain America again. “Give…give me a second. Ok. I’m good now. Coming.”

He stumbled across the floor, the few yards seeming like a mile, before dropping to Tony’s side. Tony’s head was bowed, refusing to look at him, and Peter didn’t miss the shakes that were wracking his body from head to toe. He went to reach for the muzzle, only for both his wrists to scream at him not to move. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Wrists…they didn’t quite heal enough yet.”

Steve took a tentative step forward, palms open. There was a streak of blood running down his face from where the bullet had grazed his temple. “Tony, please, _please_ , let me free you.”

Tony didn’t move, then flinched again as there was movement on the other side of the bunker. The one-armed man was moving back towards them, although giving Tony as wide a berth as possible. 

“Bucky? Are you ok?” Steve asked.

“I shouldn’t be here.” The man - Bucky - stopped long before he got close to Tony, feeling through Zemo’s pockets until he found the key to Tony’s chains, which he tossed to Steve. Then he grabbed Zemo around the chest and tossed him over his shoulder. He made the movement look like nothing, but Peter didn’t miss the strain in his face as he took on the extra weight. “I’ll be outside waiting for T’Challa.”

“Buck -”

“I’m fine,” he said, although his tone and posture communicated anything but. He indicated Tony. “Focus on him.” Then he was gone from the room.

Tony visibly relaxed when Bucky was out of sight. Steve must have noticed because he tested the waters by moving closer. When Tony didn’t move away again, Steve dropped to his knees next to him with a painful thud that made Peter wince in sympathy. Steve’s hands ghosted around Tony’s head. “Can I…”

When he got no resistance, Steve made quick work of the muzzle and then the chains. Tony slumped forward, sitting to one side and gasping air back into his lungs.

“I’m sorry,” Steve breathed. “I’m so sorry.” He glanced up, noting the blood dripping down Peter’s nose onto his suit. “Wait, you’re -” He looked from Peter’s face to his clothing, brain seeming not to process the information.

“Queens, yeah. That’s me. Hi.” His hand went to the collar locked around his throat, but Tony’s hand shot out and caught it before it could get close, Peter crying out when Tony’s hand squeezed his broken wrist.

Tony let go immediately. “Sorry…sorry, kid. Sorry.”

Peter didn’t think the last apology was aimed at him.

“Off,” Tony whispered, then stronger. “We need to get them off.”

Steve was nodding. “They’re locked at the back of your neck. I can break -”

“No,” Tony’s voice was suddenly sharp, certain. Some of the life was creeping back into his eyes as he took a steadying breath, bringing his legs out in front of him to rub out the pins and needles. His wrists were raw and chaffed from fighting the chains, and his ankles were no different. “Disable first.”

Steve’s hand was still raised, unsure if it was ok to touch.

“Suit,” Tony said, jerking his head to the right, indicating another part of the base. “Not working but -”

Steve was already on his feet. “Where?”

“Room behind the one with the…with the TV screen.”

_The what?_ But Steve seemed to understand. “I’ll come back.”

The words caused a ripple of tension through Tony’s shoulder blades, but he didn’t respond otherwise. Steve looked like he wanted to say more, but took up the mission at hand and darted from the room, leaving Peter and Tony alone.

“Mr Stark? Are you -” Peter broke off the sentence because Tony was clearly _not_ ok. He wouldn’t even look his way.

“Kid, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“You shouldn't have been involved in this.” The mirroring of Zemo’s words from earlier made Peter start. The notes of regret and sadness were the same as well, although Tony’s carried the guilt that Zemo’s had lacked. “I shouldn’t have brought you anywhere near this.”  
  
“Well, that’s…wrong.”

The words finally got Tony to look at him. Peter transitioned from kneeling to sitting cross-legged beside him instead, wrapping his arms tight around himself. The adrenaline was fast fading and with it the last remains of his body heat. 

“Peter -”

“If I hadn’t been here, Captain America would have died. _You_ might have died. I needed to be here. And yeah it was really scary.” He winced as he shifted, jostling the not-healed wrists. “And painful, but if I hadn’t been here it would have been worse so…I don’t regret it. When you can do the things I can do, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen -”

“It wouldn’t have happened because of you,” Tony cut him off. “Ok? None of it would have been on you. But if you had died, that would have been on me, you get that right?”

“I think that’s what MJ calls a double standard.”

Tony looked like he wanted to argue further, but Peter’s shivers were becoming too pronounced to ignore. “Come here,” Tony gestured to him, and Peter moved closer, grateful, expecting a hug before Tony said, “ Turn around. Unzip the suit, let me see it.”

Peter did, wincing as his bare back was completely exposed to the freezing air. He could hear Tony opening the wiring inside of the suit. “Christ, that EMP really did a number on - I mean, this is brand new, I just finished this. Hold on.”

There was the snap of wires and then warmth was flooding Peter from head to toe. “Woah.”

“Better?”

“Yeah, way better.”

Tony moved away and Peter fastened up the suit again. “I had a little freezing incident in the Mark II - every suit since then has come with a built-in heater.”

“Thanks, Mr Stark.”

“I think after the shit storm that was today we can be on a first-name basis, how does that sound?”

Peter didn’t get the chance to answer because there was the ringing of footsteps and thenSteve was back, the remains of the Iron Man suit flung over one shoulder. He carefully laid it at the ground at Tony’s feet. Tony avoided looking at him as he ran his hands over it, taking inventory.

“Can you fix…” Steve gestured to the smashed arc reactor. “Can we fix this?"

Tony considered. “I don’t know. I think this one is broken for good. But that’s ok - I just need the parts to make it work.”

Tony started to strip away the suit as Steve turned to Peter instead. “Sorry about the nose.”

Peter shrugged it off. “I’ve had way worse, believe me.”

Steve glanced at Tony. “How much worse? How long have you been…” He gestured to the Spider-Man suit. 

“Oh, only like a few months,” Peter replied. “I meant kids at school. They…” He gestured to his face. “They’d do stuff like this…sometimes. It’s no big deal though, really.”

Steve offered him a sad smile, reaching up to pull the cowl off his head. He looked younger than Peter thought he would, up close. “Yeah, I faced my fair share of bullies in my day.” He turned the cowl over in his hands. “Thank you,” he said. “You saved my life.”

Peter flushed. “Just doing my job.”

“Job, huh?” He glanced at Tony again, who was lost in exposed wiring, stripping down the suit to pull out what he needed.

“We’re going to do mine first,” Tony announced, making it clear there was no room for argument. “There’s no reason this shouldn’t work, but just in case, we’re doing mine first.” He ran his fingers over the collar, a makeshift tool in his hands, until he seemed to find what he was looking for. It was right at the back of his neck, at an awkward angle. Peter wanted to jump in with an offer of help, but his injuries meant his hands were not as steady as Tony’s right now, even though Tony couldn’t see what he was doing.

“I should do it,” Steve said, to Peter’s relief.

Tony ignored him. “I got it.’  


“Tony, you can’t even _see_ -”

But Tony was already inserting the tool between his neck and his collar. There was a click, and a whir, and then another click.

Then the collar fell away.

Tony gasped in a breath the second he was free, only giving himself a moment to recover before he was moving around to free Peter as well. “There,” he said, when he’d removed the collar from Peter. “Easy.”

He tossed it away. It landed with a thunk on the floor, but the angle it had fallen on must have triggered what was left of the device, because it snapped closed with a horrible crunching sound, showing exactly what it would have done to Peter’s neck.

Peter stared at the crumpled metal that had just been around his throat moments earlier. He was going to have nightmares about that one that he was not looking forward to.

“We should go,” Tony decided, breaking the horrible silence that followed. He stood, ignoring Steve’s offer of help. 

“What do want me to do with…” Steve gestured to the mangled suit.

“Bring it,” Tony said without hesitation. “Despite what people say, I at least try not to be careless with my tech.”

Peter understood it was a jab even though he didn’t get the intention. Tony set his sights on the exit, then hesitated.

“Zemo’s unconscious and with Bucky,” Steve reassured him.

“Is he going to kill him?”

“No,” Steve replied evenly. “T’Challa requested him alive. To face justice. He’s on his way back here.”

“He’s taking Zemo to Wakanda?”

“He killed their king, Tony. T’Challa’s father. I think if he should be arrested by anyone, it’s him.”

For the first time, Tony turned to face Steve, meeting his gaze head-on. “So T’Challa’s father was killed, and you agree said killer should face justice.”

Ok, Peter was completely lost now, the words holding a clear accusation he didn’t understand.

Steve held the gaze. “I don’t think that’s a conversation for here.” Then he looked up at the corners of the room, and Peter followed, heart plummeting when he spotted the cameras tucked into nearly every corner of the base.

With a yelp, he threw his hands up over his face, even though the damage was done. Cameras. He’d been filmed without his mask.

“Where’s the footage?” he asked, frantic. “Can we destroy it? Is it somewhere in the base?”

“Queens,” Peter heard Steve say, his voice gentle. “It was broadcasting live. Maybe it still is, for all we know.”

The floor fell out from under Peter’s feet. _Broadcasting live_. It was already out there. His face, his identity, it was out there -

Then there were hands on his shoulders, cold and trembling but comforting all the same. “Rogers, shut up. Peter,” Tony said, his voice low. “Yes, this was the villain version of a live-stream for attention.”

Peter groaned, burying his face deeper.

“But it wouldn’t have got far. F.R.I.D.A.Y. will have caught it and stopped it. I’ve programmed her for that kind of thing. One too many ransom videos of mine have been leaked in the past, and it’s never a good look. If even a frame was broadcast to the public, she will have already erased it from every record.”

Peter peaked between his fingers, hopeful. “Really?”

“Really,” Tony promised. “Secret identity is safe, kid.”

Steve had stepped forward, his brow furrowed as though he was trying to puzzle something out. “You knew it wouldn’t be seen by anyone.”

Tony straightened up, but left a hand on Peter’s shoulder. It looked amiable, but Peter could feel Tony using him for balance. “I cover my tracks. Usually.”

“Then…” Steve was still confused. “What was the something else?”

“Something else?” Peter asked.

“I said something else would happen if…if you died,” Steve continued. “I thought it was the video going public. I thought it was the team ending, or getting hurt, but…” Then Steve caught the remains of Peter’s collar on the floor, the detonator where Bucky had placed it down so carefully, the hand still on Peter’s shoulder, and understood.

“The detonator set off both collars,” he breathed. “You knew.”

Tony’s hand tightened. “The world was about to see Captain America let a teenager and Spider-Man die,” Tony finished. “Yes. Even my PR team isn’t that good. Even if we could have proved you didn’t know, there was no coming back from that.”

A heavy silence fell between the three of them as they all considered a very different outcome to this situation, interrupted by the sound of a plane overhead.

“T’Challa’s back,” Steve said. 

“Go,” Tony told him. It wasn’t bitter, or resentful. He just sounded tired. “Just go, ok?”

“But you -”

“I have a plane. How do you think I got here, swum?”

“But -”

“Go.”

Steve opened his mouth, seeming to want to say something else, then seemed to take Tony at his word and left the room. When he was gone, Tony let out a huge sigh of relief, turning back to Peter. “Hey, I know you’re cold and you’re hurting and I’m going to fix that, really soon, ok? But…are you ok if we give them a bit of a head start?”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed quickly. “I’m not even that cold now, with the heater going. Thanks for that, and everything.”

“I think it’s me who should be thanking you. Although that does not invite you to stowaway on any more planes. Interiors only while in the air from now on.”

Peter hoped that counted as an invitation, even as Tony didn’t elaborate.

“Come on, kid. Let’s brace those wrists, yeah? Then we’ll get you home.” 

Bracing the wrists included Tony stripping down the Iron Man gauntlets and to turn them into splints, setting Peter’s bones into place. It hurt like hell, but Peter bit down on his lip throughout, knowing it could have been worse. A lot, lot worse.

“Better?” Tony asked once he was finished. 

“Yeah,” Peter breathed. It still hurt, but not nearly as much. “That’s so much better.”

“Alright.” Tony glanced at the remains of the Iron Man suit. “Good. I hate to ask but -”

“I can carry some of it.”

Even with the suit divvied up between them, it was still cumbersome. Tony staggered under the weight of his share of the load and Peter stepped forward, about to help, when a strong pair of arms stepped in and did it for him.

Tony went stock still, staring at Steve. “We’re waiting on you to leave, you know that right?”

“T’Challa’s gone,” was Steve’s answer. “He’s taking Bucky and Zemo to Wakanda.”

“You should have gone with them.”

Steve shook his head. “Work to be done. Can’t do it in hiding.”

Peter’s head was whipping back and forth between them like he was watching a tennis match.

“Look, you can leave me stranded here if you want,” Steve continued. “I can’t make you take me with you. But I want to come back with you - I do.” 

“Ross will arrest you on sight,” Tony said bluntly. He didn’t say whether or not he would stop him.

“Then I get arrested,” Steve replied. “I don’t agree with the laws the UN have put in place and I don’t think I ever will, but I can accept that I broke them, and there are consequences for that.”

Tony was staring him down, eyes narrowed. “Sacrificing yourself doesn’t magically fix everything.”

"I want to at least try. To fix things, I mean. Don’t you?”

There was a long pause. Then Tony nodded, once, short and sharp. “Work to do,” he repeated.

“Work to do,” Steve agreed. “Lots of it, I know.”

There were nearly out of the base when Peter realized what they’d forgotten. “Um, Mr Captain America?”

“Steve is fine, son.”  
  
“What about your shield?”

Steve looked back at the base; a tombstone in the frozen wasteland. “What about it?”

“You, um, forgot it?” 

“No, I didn’t.” He didn’t elaborate, just made his way towards Tony’s plane. After a beat, Tony followed him, Peter bringing up the rear.

The bad guy had been caught. His identity was safe. No one had died.

And yet, it didn’t feel as if they had won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s the beginning of the Whumptoberverse! The rest of the fics will be set in this AU, with the Avengers trying to piece themselves back together after Civil War. Lots of whump and feels to come.
> 
> The Whumptoberverse continues in [Not Your Sidekick](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26439808)
> 
> You can check out my other Steve & Bucky fic [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277706)

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I could promise the cliffhangers are going to go away, but we all know I would be lying.
> 
> Come scream at me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jinxquickfoot), especially if you also write fanfic or do fanart! Share your work with me!
> 
> If this fic made you smile, and you want to return the favor, I have a podcast WAIT DON'T CLICK AWAY YET. Thank you. That's very appreciated. You're a patient and excellent human.
> 
> I have a baby film and writing podcast that needs some nurture to grow. It's called "Kill the Cat", and if you have a second to pop over to [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ypaen3yM5Q&t=1s&ab_channel=KilltheCatPodcast), [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/show/5hCprc9UCBZP4srFrBXKT1?si=0CF3IKjGThK0tohIqcEy4Q) or wherever you get your podcasts and hit that 'subscribe' button it would make my day and will bring you much good karma. 
> 
> And hey. You're doing better than you think are. Be nice to yourself.


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